Author Archives: Dr. Greg Crawford

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About Dr. Greg Crawford

I'm a spiritual father, apostle, revelatory teacher, author and conference speaker. I have helped many leaders through transition into greater expressions of the Kingdom of God. I am on a quest to see ancient paths and ways of God restored to bring a more authentic expression of Christianity upon the earth. I have a heart for the emerging generations, and to help form a place for creatives to be free to have expression. I enjoy hiking, camping, exploring nature and off road motorcycle riding in remote trails.

HOW LEADERS NAVIGATE TRANSITIONS IN MINISTRY

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Transition is one of the most defining—and revealing—moments in leadership. It exposes what a ministry is truly built upon. It reveals whether a leader is simply maintaining what exists or actually carrying the authority to move something into its next dimension.

Many ministries do not fail because of lack of passion, people, or opportunity. They stall because they never successfully transition. They reach a point of effectiveness, and then unknowingly begin to protect what was built instead of advancing what God is saying next. What once required faith slowly becomes familiar, and what was once pioneering becomes predictable.

One of the greatest misconceptions in ministry is the idea that transition occurs when people are ready, when enough time has passed, or when growth demands it. None of those things actually produce transition. Ministries transition because leaders make a deliberate decision to shift the culture. The issue is transition does not happen automatically. It happens intentionally.

Scripture establishes this clearly: “Where there is no vision, the people perish…” (Proverbs 29:18 KJV). The limitation is never primarily the people; it is the absence of clear, forward-moving vision and understanding it. Apostolic leadership knows this. It does not wait for consensus. It does not wait for comfort. It moves because it sees. It sees the future and for them it has been made known, for others it is still unknow. That is one key eliminate, can you explain what you see for others to engage into it.

At the center of every transition is a shift in emphasis. Every ministry is producing something, whether intentionally or unintentionally. What is being produced is directly tied to what is being emphasized. What you emphasize, you will produce. What you emphasis is what is important to you. If a ministry emphasizes attendance, it will produce attenders. If it emphasizes programs, it will produce participants. But if it emphasizes development, it will produce leaders. The difference is in what the focus is put upon. If the emphasis does not change, the outcome will not change. Many leaders say they want mature believers and equipped leaders, yet their systems reward presence rather than growth, activity rather than transformation.

This shift is not only corporate; it is deeply personal. Every leader who walks with God long enough will face seasons where their assignment changes, where the grace they once operated in begins to shift, and where what once felt fruitful now feels limited. These moments are not signs of failure—they are invitations into transition.

However, the greatest challenge in these moments is not stepping into the new. It is letting go of what has been familiar and fruitful in the past. Personal transition demands a restructuring of value. It forces a leader to reevaluate time, energy, and purpose, asking honestly, “Is this still aligned with why I am on the earth?” Alongside a shift in emphasis must come a shift in measurement. One of the most common reasons leaders fail to transition is because they attempt to evaluate a new season using old metrics. But transition always introduces an unseen future. It cannot be measured by what has already been.

Paul addresses this when he writes, “They measuring themselves by themselves… are not wise.” (2 Corinthians 10:12 KJV). In transition, leaders must change not only what they measure, but how they measure and what they value. What you measure reinforces what you emphasize. If you measure attendance, you reinforce gathering. If you measure activity, you reinforce motion. But if you measure development, you reinforce transformation. A ministry will never successfully transition while it continues to reward the outcomes of a previous season.

God’s perspective on evaluation is different from man’s. “Man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.” (1 Samuel 16:7 KJV). Transition calls leaders to move beyond surface-level indicators and begin discerning what is actually being produced within people and especially and foremost themselves. As this internal and structural shift takes place, clarity becomes the defining factor. Clarity in who they are as a leader. Clarity in the calling and assignment. Then clarity in the ministry. Leaders must define where the ministry is going, simplify the vision so it can be carried, and communicate direction with precision. Without clarity, people do not move forward—they drift.

God instructed Habakkuk to “write the vision, and make it plain…” (Habakkuk 2:2 KJV). Why? Because clarity creates movement. When vision is clear, it becomes transferable. When it is simplified, it becomes reproducible. When it is communicated, it becomes actionable. You see clarity gives people confidence to move.

As leaders step into this clarity, they must also confront one of the greatest barriers to transition: the need to remain the primary doer. A ministry cannot transition while the leader is still carrying the weight of doing everything. Ephesians 4:12 makes the role of leadership clear: “For the perfecting of the saints, for the work of the ministry…” The assignment of leadership is not to perform ministry, but to prepare people to do it.

If people are not being developed, they remain dependent. And if they remain dependent, the ministry cannot expand. Transition requires a shift from doing ministry to building people. This shift demands structure. Many ministries rely heavily on moments—powerful gatherings, emotional encounters, or inspiring teachings. While these moments are valuable, they do not produce sustained transformation. Transition is not built on moments; it is built on pathways that lead to a future. People do not grow simply by hearing truth—they grow by walking it out.

This leads directly into the necessity of responsibility. Leaders cannot develop other leaders without entrusting them with something real. Jesus did not merely instruct His disciples—He sent them. “He gave them power and authority… and sent them…” (Luke 9:1–2 KJV). responsibility reveals capacity, develops maturity, and exposes areas that require growth. Without it, people remain untested and undeveloped. Faithfulness is proven through opportunity, as Jesus taught: “He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much…” (Luke 16:10 KJV).

For this reason, leaders must intentionally create room for others to function. This means allowing people to lead, to teach, to make decisions, and even to fail. Leadership development does not occur in controlled environments—it occurs in real situations where growth is required.

However, opportunity alone is not enough. People must also be developed intentionally. Leaders are not discovered by accident—they are formed through process. This includes instruction, correction, accountability, and impartation. Paul modeled this when he instructed Timothy: “Commit thou to faithful men, who shall be able to teach others also.” (2 Timothy 2:2 KJV). This is the pattern of multiplication. It is generational, not seasonal.

The reality is that potential is common, but development is rare. Growth requires pressure, consistency, and intentional investment. Hebrews reinforces this by declaring that maturity comes through use—through exercising what has been learned. At this point, every leader encounters a defining tension: the struggle between control and release. Control feels safe because it protects what currently exists. But release is what builds the future.

This is where the shift from addition to multiplication becomes critical. Addition increases numbers, but multiplication expands impact. The Kingdom model is not built on accumulation—it is built on reproduction. Paul’s investment into Timothy, who then invested into faithful men, who then taught others, demonstrates this clearly. This is how something outlives the original leader. Genesis establishes this principle from the beginning: “Be fruitful, and multiply…” (Genesis 1:28 KJV).

A ministry that depends entirely on one leader will never move beyond that leader. But a ministry that flows through people will expand generationally. This is why sending becomes essential. A transitioning ministry does not hold people tightly—it releases them strategically. In Acts 13, the church did not cling to Barnabas and Saul. They sent them. Jesus affirmed this pattern when He said, “As my Father hath sent me, even so send I you.” (John 20:21 KJV). Sending produces expansion, regional impact, and Kingdom advancement.

Ultimately, true transition is generational. It looks beyond the present moment and begins building for what comes next. “One generation shall praise thy works to another…” (Psalm 145:4 KJV).

In the end, the conclusion is unmistakable. If leaders are not raising replacements, they are not truly transitioning—they are maintaining. And maintenance never produces legacy. A ministry does not become powerful because of what it gathers or the number gathered. It becomes powerful because of what it reproduces. Transition is not a moment you go through it is a leadership decision .you have to live out.

Apostolic and Apostle Defined: Rediscovering the Authentic

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As I look around today, it seems the words apostle and apostolic are used almost interchangeably. The problem is one is a grace and the other is a function coming forth from that grace. One is a divinely placed person and the other is a function of members of the body. What is needed for today is clarity of how grace works.

Paul begins with striking clarity

“Paul, called to be an apostle of Jesus Christ through the will of God…” (1 Corinthians 1:1)
“Paul, an apostle, (not of men, neither by man, but by Jesus Christ, and God the Father, who raised him from the dead;)” (Galatians 1:1)

Right away, we see: apostles are not appointed by men or prophetic words or someone saying it over you, but by Jesus Christ Himself. This divine call is not about title, popularity, or organizational hierarchy. It is a governing call, grounded in spiritual authority and spiritual purpose. It has a set grace that is divined, seen and tangible. This is what men should be affirming of those called as apostles. 

The Marks of Apostolic Grace

Authentic apostles carry a grace for:

  • Doctrine: guarding and clarifying the doctrines of Christ.
  • Kingdom: revealing and guiding the formation of the Kingdom.
  • Function: activating faith into action.
  • Order: setting divine order among gifts, gatherings, and lives.
  • Vision: carrying a vision broad enough to encompass the visions of many.

Paul writes:

“According to the grace of God which is given unto me, as a wise masterbuilder, I have laid the foundation…” (1 Corinthians 3:10–11)

This is the heart of an apostle: a master builder, laying Christ as the only foundation. The difference between those who walk in an apostolic grace and those who carry the grace as an apostle is like the difference between working within an anointing and being entrusted to release that grace for others. Many think they are apostles because of doing spiritual things, but are really under an unrecognized or unseen grace an apostle released in the spiritual atmosphere.

If someone claims apostleship yet doesn’t carry these marks—doctrine, order, function, vision, kingdom stewardship—they may hold a title without the grace.

The Era of Authenticity

We are now in what I call the Era of Authenticity.
Era means a distinct period marked by something defining. And what defines this moment is not style, branding, or methods—but authenticity: the real, the original, the tested, the true.

Authenticity means more than copying acts or principles. It means conforming to the origin—bearing the image of Christ Himself. Even Paul was tested on this:

“And when Saul was come to Jerusalem… they were all afraid of him, and believed not that he was a disciple.” (Acts 9:26)

They doubted his authenticity—until his life and fruit proved it. This then is apostleship. It is what remains when you are not around. It is legacy being created. It is others carrying the same message on the same assignment. It is the empower of the Body that creates a fullness in them. When I ask many saying they are apostles, about apostleship, they have a hard time answering.

Today, there’s a cry in the spirit for what’s real—not promotional, but substantial; not trendy, but eternal. Not prophetic acts alone, but apostolic acts: present-tense, redemptive, and rooted in the now word of God.

Something I see happening in the Body of Christ today is what I would describe as the difference between an old understanding of apostles and the apostolic, and what is now emerging as a revelatory understanding of the apostolic.

What do I mean by that?

Many are still teaching about apostles from the framework that first began to define the apostolic restoration more than thirty years ago. At that time, much of the emphasis was simply on recovering the biblical reality that apostles still exist and giving the apostolic gift a legitimate place again within the Church. Teaching focused on defining the role, explaining its function, and helping people understand how apostles fit practically within church structures. These were important introductive truths. They opened eyes and created room for the apostolic gift to operate again in ways that had been largely forgotten.

But much of that early teaching defined the apostolic primarily by function, structure, and terminology. In many cases what developed was a recognition of apostolic calling, yet not always the full expression of apostolic functioning. When our understanding remains framed by those earlier definitions, not everything we call “apostolic” actually carries the nature or weight of the apostolic grace.

What we are seeing now, however, is that the apostolic has continued to unfold.

The apostolic has evolved immensely, and you can clearly see different degrees of maturity among apostles and in apostolic expressions. The apostolic today is emerging with a progressive revelatory wisdom—an understanding that continues to expand as the Spirit reveals more of Christ’s intention for His Church.

We are beginning to recognize that the apostolic is less a list of functions and more a living grace. It is not primarily measured by gathering large numbers but by influence that shapes and establishes. True apostolic grace builds things that are unshakable, rather than systems that require constant tending and maintenance.

It carries more than a knowledge of Scripture. It carries a revelatory unveiling of hidden mysteries—insights into the purposes of God that unlock pathways for others to walk in. And it is more than being a skilled administrator. Apostolic grace creates opportunities that release others into responsibility, empowering people and structures to function without constant oversight.

In this way the apostolic matures—from something defined primarily by role, to something recognized by the weight of grace, revelation, and enduring fruit that it produces.

Beyond Seasons: Stepping into an Era

Many talk of “new seasons,” but what God is giving is an Era—an apostolic era marked by regeneration, restoration, and the authentic acts of God among His people. We are moving:

  • From mere doctrine of the Kingdom to living in the manner of the Kingdom.
  • From principles to governance.
  • From institutional maintenance to authentic expression.

Paul says:

“If ye have heard of the dispensation of the grace of God which is given me to you-ward…” (Ephesians 3:2)

This grace isn’t for self-promotion—it’s toward others, for maturing and equipping the Body.

The Living Grace of an Apostle

An apostle carries a living grace—not just giftings or charisma. It’s something that changes people and places. Paul writes:

“Even as it is meet for me to think this of you all… ye all are partakers of my grace.” (Philippians 1:7)

This grace is territorial—it affects the atmosphere and spiritual climate of regions, not because of personality but because of divine assignment.

Apostles don’t exist to control or centralize power, but to release, activate, and father. The heart of a father is felt, not just heard. This is the difference: apostles have the vision and grace to implement; the apostolic serve and build within that grace.

Strategic vs. Tactical

Apostles carry a strategy—a heaven-breathed blueprint to shift cultures and build foundations that last. The apostolic function is tactical: training, equipping, sending. It is intentional and even calibrated looking for cause and effect. Reproducible. It is not based on numerical involvement but on numerical influences.

Many confuse leading or training with apostleship itself. But the apostle’s role is broader: to establish doctrine, order, and future vision for the Body. These things play into the role of individuals, but apostles are looking more wholestic.

The Ancient Understanding: Sent as the Sender

The Hebrew word Sheliach shows the depth of what “apostle” means:

“The Sheliach of a man is as the man himself.”

Jesus used the Greek apostolos but filled it with Hebrew meaning: a fully authorized representative, carrying not just words but the authority and heart of the Sender.
To receive an apostle is to receive the One who sent them. To reject them is to reject the one who sent Him.

The Corporate Dynamic

True apostles speak “we,” not “me.” Their doctrine isn’t just local but universal, setting order for the global Body of Christ. They see beyond one congregation to the corporate Bride.

Paul’s letters overflow with corporate language: “we,” “us,” “our.” Apostolic ministry is never self-contained—it is always for the whole ecclesia.

Authentic Community and Regeneration

Finally, this era will restore authentic community—a sacred, interdependent life. We are in an Exodus: coming out of institutional religion and into the foundations of the Kingdom.

Regeneration—new birth, renewal, restoration—will mark this era.

“Not by works of righteousness which we have done, but… by the washing of regeneration, and renewing of the Holy Ghost.” (Titus 3:4–7)

The apostle carries the spirit of regeneration, creating spaces where lifes, families, and even regions are reborn.

In Conclusion

We’re entering not just another season but an Era of Authenticity. An era where apostles will:

  • Govern the mind of God for the Body’s future.
  • Establish order, doctrine, and Kingdom culture.
  • Release grace that empowers, not controls.
  • See the Kingdom advance through authentic, tested lives—not by words alone,  but by the Acts of the Apostles alive in our generation.

May we embrace what is real, reject what is counterfeit, and together build what remains.

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Jesus, the Twelve, and the Reality of Relational Conflict

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Jesus and the twelve disciples lived within constant relational tension. When we look at the many different expressions of church today, it becomes clear that various church structures create different kinds of community—and different kinds of relational interaction within the Body of Christ.

In larger churches, it is often possible to attend without ever truly interacting with others at a deep level. But once you step into a smaller group, a leadership role, or a specific assignment, relational conflict almost inevitably emerges. The reality is this: the smaller the ministry, the more exposed we become to one another—and the more conflict surfaces.

As I was thinking about this, I began to reflect on Jesus and the twelve disciples. I wondered how much relational conflict must have existed among them. When you truly think about it, it is remarkable that anything was accomplished at all—or that we even have Christianity today.

These men came from vastly different backgrounds. Their educations varied. Their life experiences were nothing alike. Their value systems often clashed. Matthew, for instance, was a tax collector—employed by Rome. Surely there was suspicion surrounding him. At the same time, fishermen and common laborers were likely looked down upon by others within the group. If you really consider it, every form of extreme thinking probably existed among the twelve.

Scripture shows us that they were frequently conflicted—and at times openly argumentative. Each man held tightly to what he believed, what he valued, and what he thought was right. They fought to have their perspectives heard, embraced, and validated. We see Peter’s lack of understanding. We see Thomas wrestling with doubt. Later, we see conflict between Paul and John Mark—and even between Paul and Peter.

Like us today, they were on a journey—discovering truth and deciding what they would ultimately believe about that truth.

At that point in history, there was no centralized doctrine. Doctrine was being formed in real time. Each apostle was at a different level of maturity, experience, and understanding—both in relation to the Holy Spirit and in how they interpreted the words Jesus spoke to them.

Today, we at least have a completed Bible that is meant to bring us into unity. Yet even now, we are deeply divided over doctrine, truth, and interpretation. These divisions inevitably surface in how we relate to one another. And those relational exposures reveal where we are still lacking in understanding and truth.

Just as it was then, culture was constantly trying to shape and distort truth. And that is no different in our present hour. Culture now dictates how truth is interpreted—asking whether it is politically correct, non-offensive, or acceptable to personal preference. We guard our own interpretations fiercely. We add layers to support what we already want to believe rather than submitting ourselves to what truth actually is.

We often attempt to fix spiritual issues through unbiblical means—through intellectual ascent, emotional reasoning, or worldly practices wrapped in biblical language. The result is a mental mixture: truth diluted, compromised, and reshaped to fit comfort rather than conviction.

Yet in the midst of all the conflict the early apostles faced, they still managed to accomplish the mission. They set aside unresolved differences and continued moving forward toward the Kingdom goal. What empowered them was their perception of what held the greatest value.

Today, however, we often fight for our own preferences, our pet doctrines, and our personal projects—rather than yielding to the larger Kingdom plan trying to unfold.

The very fact that relational conflict exists—and that it can slow us down or even derail a move of God—should alert us to something important: the journey of truth we are on must be of great value, or it would not be attacked so fiercely.

Looking back over the years, I have noticed a pattern. Whenever a genuine move of God begins to emerge, one of the most common things that stops it is relational conflict—especially among leaders or those actively serving. There is a difference between disagreement over understanding and a refusal to resolve conflict. The latter is what causes damage.

Many times, we leave the Word of God out of the process. Other times, we ignore or resist the prompting of the Holy Spirit. Often, we are not seeking God’s conclusion—we are seeking our own. What I have learned is that resolution frequently takes time, because it is ultimately a heart issue. And the heart must change its position.

Emotions can interfere. Pride can block conviction. And unresolved wounds can prevent transformation. Most of us are probably living with some level of unresolved conflict at any given time. The real question is whether we are trusting God to work it out—and whether we are willing to obey when the Spirit prompts us to act.

Returning again to the twelve apostles, I am sure they lived for long periods with unresolved tension, waiting for truth to fully come and clarify their direction. But until that truth was revealed, they chose mission over division. They set aside their differences and committed themselves to advancing the Kingdom in the earth.

Yes, they argued over who would be the greatest. Yes, they debated who would sit at the right hand. But when the Holy Spirit came, something shifted. At Pentecost, the Spirit of understanding was released. After that moment, they were no longer fighting over position—they were willing to die for one another.

There is an action of the Holy Spirit that must occur to truly resolve relational conflict. When the Spirit comes, it reveals that what we were fighting for was never as important as we believed. A greater weight enters the room—the King and His Kingdom. And when that happens, everything else falls into its proper place.

Where Does Time Go? The Mental Battle

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Today I found myself thinking about… well, everything I’m thinking about. My mind wandered through thoughts of family—children, grandchildren, close friends. And if you’re in ministry, you know how quickly the mind shifts toward other ministries and ministry leaders: how they function, how healthy they are, what’s working, what’s failing. You think about your own past, the future you hope to build, and all the space in between.

In other words—you’re thinking about life.

If we’re not careful, all these layers of thought begin pulling more and more time and energy out of us. I catch myself so loaded with thoughts that it becomes difficult to find space for the things I want to do, or even room to explore new ideas God is stirring. Our thoughts jump from one category to another, and often we never reach a conclusion. Every unresolved thought demands more time, more emotional investment, more processing.

This morning, as I was contemplating what is actually consuming my time in ministry, I realized something surprising: it isn’t my actions that take the most energy—it’s my thinking. It’s how much time I spend mentally visiting all these different areas.

When you oversee a ministry, you are constantly thinking about what needs to change, how to move people forward, how to rightly discern the season and the future. Your heart weighs past prophetic words, current understanding, and what God is revealing next. You’re navigating the daily needs that keep a ministry functioning smoothly. And woven through all of this is the continual examination of your own calling—making sure you are on track, while also ensuring the ministry is on track. These are separate, yet deeply intertwined.

Then there’s the mental and spiritual load of ministering to people. When teaching or preaching, I often hear the thoughts of those I’m ministering to. Sometimes you hear their internal questions as you speak; sometimes you hear them later in counseling sessions. The bigger the person’s problem, the more mental space it occupies as you seek wisdom, clarity, and the right counsel.

All of this began to reveal something to me: many of these thoughts are pushing out the space I need for meditation on the Word of God. The noise of a day begins to crowd out the eternal whisper.

And then the question comes:

How much time do we spend meditating on what is eternal compared to what is temporary?

At the core, this is about the focus of our heart. We love people—so naturally we carry their burdens, their needs, their decisions. But we also love the eternal realm and the things of God. And it can feel like we are constantly living with a divided heart between the temporal needs of people and the eternal voice of God.

So the real question becomes:

How do we navigate the daily flood of thoughts and remain effective without burning out?

Paul gives us the key: “Take every thought captive to the obedience of Christ.”
That means we have the ability—and the responsibility—to bring order to our thought life.

Paul also instructs us to “think on things that are pure, holy, lovely, and of good report.” Part of taking control of our thoughts is learning to bring them to a conclusion. Many thoughts keep spinning because we haven’t yet heard God concerning them. We keep analyzing, hoping new information will come, when what we actually need is the wisdom of God.

We need to pause. Step aside. Sit with the Father and the Holy Spirit.
Let our spirit be renewed.
Enter that place where the depths of His wisdom have no end.

Some problems simply have no answer outside of that place.

We think on past failures hoping not to repeat them. We try to help people make right decisions, but their answers can’t come from our intellect—they must come from the eternal realm and the wisdom of God.

I’m also convinced that we must return to meditating on the Word and the mysteries God is revealing. Those mysteries carry answers that settle the noise, calm the racing mind, and anchor us in truth. They quiet the mental chaos because they draw us back to what is eternal.

I have an analytical mind, and that can get me in great trouble if I’m not careful. But what I’ve learned is this:
If I take that analytical nature and aim it toward the Word of God, it becomes a gift—not a burden.

In the end, the question “Where does time go?” often brings us back to this simple truth:

Time is often lost not in what we do, but in what we allow our mind to carry. And God invites us—daily—to lay those thoughts down, listen for His wisdom, and live from the eternal place where clarity replaces chaos

Church and Culture: The Great Divide

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Over the years in ministry, through seasons of change and decades of serving in the calling, I’ve watched the landscape of the Church shift—again and again. New strategies rise, new expressions emerge, and cultural waves crash at the gates of the Body of Christ. There is always this desire to be “relevant,” to meet the world where it is. And yet, deep within the soul of the Church is a cry to recover the DNA of the early apostolic company. What we have is not just a tension—it’s a tug-of-war.

Relevance has become a buzzword. But relevance, when not anchored in truth, requires compromise. And compromise—though subtle—is deadly. To be relevant to culture often means we must absorb part of it. To speak to modern issues, we immerse ourselves in them. To communicate faith on the level of the hearer, we water it down. I’ve watched it happen slowly, incrementally. But over time, relevance begins to redefine our values.

But here’s the truth: the Church was never called to mirror culture. It was called to confront it. The early Church did not try to “relate” to Roman rule, or blend with religious traditions, cultic practices, or distorted values of life. They were unapologetically counter-cultural. They understood the call to be in the world, but not of it—and they lived it.

What’s disturbing is how far we’ve drifted. We’ve tried to attract the world by looking like it, thinking we can rescue people from worldliness while using worldly methods. We justify our compromises as “relatable.” Social drinking, carnal environments, and a diluted holiness have all found their way into our sanctuaries. But relevance without holiness produces confusion. We’ve normalized immaturity and called it maturity because someone knows both sides. Yet many of these are still babes—stuck at salvation, never maturing into discipleship, let alone Christ-likeness.

Who let these false ideas in?

Even well-intentioned efforts, if not grounded in truth, open the door to private interpretation. Jesus never spoke in vague language. He confronted error, exposed darkness, and raised a standard that was not only high but clearly understood. His invitation wasn’t to blend in—it was to follow Him. That meant dying to self, abandoning personal wisdom, living by faith, and ministering to souls, while not making friends with the world.

Today, everything is labeled “Christian” or “church,” even when the foundational truths are absent. Maybe the issue isn’t culture invading the church—but the Church lowering her standards.

I recently found myself reflecting on the early Church’s demands: the qualifications for elders, the weight of fivefold ministry, and the expectation that saints would do the work of ministry. There was an assumption that the life of Christ within the people would be so vibrant, it would require spiritual oversight by mature elders—those who carried God’s heart.

And they weren’t living in a vacuum. Their world was far more corrupt than ours: idols at every turn, public temples to demons, open witchcraft, Baal worship, the cruelty of Rome, the celebration of depravity. And yet in the midst of it all—they stood. Separated for the work. The Church didn’t just survive—it multiplied.

They had a clear vision: manifest the Kingdom of God.
They had a clear mission: preach the gospel of the Kingdom to the ends of the earth.
They had apostolic oversight: men who set doctrine and brought what was lacking into fullness.
They had eldership in cities who preserved what the apostles had established.

And still, through every age, with all the cultural pressures, false teachings, ego-driven ministries, and shifting models—the Church, the ekklesia, stands. Bruised, stretched, and reshaped at times—but never destroyed. She is still being refined. And yes, she will become the glorious Bride. She will be the one who delivers the Kingdom to the Father. She will rise in apostolic and prophetic order. She will become the ruling, reigning ones.

This is my hope.
This is my assignment.
This is my call.

To reveal the King and His Kingdom. To unveil the mystery: Christ in you, the hope of glory.

Do All Apostles Have Large Works?

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Let’s talk about something that quietly but deeply affects the way many in the Church think—especially in the West. There’s this lingering, often unspoken assumption that apostolic ministry is measured by the size of one’s structure. If it’s big, if it’s visible, if it’s functioning like a well-oiled machine, then surely—surely—that must mean there’s an apostle at the helm, right?

Not necessarily.

We’ve entered a time where titles are handed out like business cards, and large churches are seen as automatic qualifications for apostleship. But what I’ve found, again and again, is that many of these so-called apostles are actually brilliant administrators. Gifted managers. Skilled builders of systems and programs. But apostles? That’s another matter.

A true apostle doesn’t have to build something big—but they will always carry something weighty. Apostolic grace isn’t about the magnitude of your structure; it’s about the magnitude of your influence. That’s the mark. That’s the fruit. That’s the separating line. Myself I have been dismissed multiple times because I don’t have a “visibly” large ministry. The conclusion comes by measuring by worldly success, not having many bodies in seats, then there must not be much offered. Yet my greatest impact is not in a room but in multiplied “Rooms” all over the globe. How immature we are to measure by a worldly standard.

When I sit with leaders, I often ask a simple question: “Tell me about your apostleship.” What have you put in place that keeps moving without you being present? What has been established under your leadership that doesn’t collapse when you leave? What order have you brought from chaos? What foundations have been laid in equipping verses teaching?

Apostles don’t just plant—they align, they correct, they instruct, and they guard the truth. They are fiercely loyal to sound doctrine, deeply studied, and grieved when the Church begins drifting into error. Their heart isn’t to be the face of a movement—but to make sure that what is being built actually reflects the King and His Kingdom. They don’t want to be seen, but an apostolic people to be made known.

Consider Paul. He planted thirteen churches—but honestly, you might expect more from someone of his caliber. But here’s the thing: Paul’s influence didn’t stop with those thirteen. His epistles are still forming the foundation of the global Church today. His words are shaping faith in nations he never stepped foot in. That’s apostolic impact.

Or look at John the Revelator. He didn’t start a single church. He didn’t have a large following. But his heavenly vision brought the Church out of complacency and back into the reality of eternity. He stirred the Bride toward martyrdom and mission. He carried eternal influence, not institutional reach.

Real apostles don’t operate in time—they function from eternity. They see what’s not yet visible. They labor for a future expression of the Church, a people formed in the image of Christ. They send the right people into the right places at the right time. They see the whole work and move toward its completion.

They aren’t interested in building vast networks for name recognition. They’re building people into the fullness of Christ. Often hidden, they labor in the secret places. They test, they discern, they train. They look beyond charisma to character. They know that what’s sown in sound doctrine will reproduce for generations.

And let’s not forget the Apostle of all apostles—Jesus. He didn’t plant a single church in the traditional sense. But He birthed a movement that spans the globe and ages. His work wasn’t about building structures—it was about transforming lives and building a Kingdom. His influence is still the most potent on the earth today.

So, do all apostles have large works? Not always. But they will always have lasting fruit, eternal influence, and a legacy that outlives them.

When God Highlights Relationships

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There are moments when God puts His finger on something in a way that’s unmistakable. Right now, that something is relationships. It’s a time of divine connecting—where God is emphasizing the importance of healthy, spiritually aligned relationships while also allowing the unproductive ones to be sifted out.

The Strain in the Spirit

Many people are experiencing strained relationships right now. And strain almost always reveals weakness. It’s easy to assume we’re on the same page with someone—same desires, same values—until the moment of difference comes, and that difference introduces tension. Conflict creeps in. Harmony fades. Internal battles emerge, and suddenly, we find ourselves trying to control what feels like a spiritual slide.

This is the heart of why divorces happen, why dating relationships implode, and why so many friendships feel shallow and disappointing. We formed these relationships around circumstantial compatibility or emotional convenience rather than around a foundation built on Christ. When the foundation shifts—or proves faulty—the whole structure begins to crack.

What’s especially tragic is when this happens among believers. If Christians find themselves in relational chaos, it often means someone’s spiritual standard has dropped. Once the spiritual commonality erodes, the relationship naturally suffers. The strain is not just emotional—it’s deeply spiritual. It’s when the flesh gains dominance over the spirit that true connection breaks down.

Paul said he knew no man after the flesh. Our connections are meant to be spirit-to-spirit. When Christ, salvation, and the Kingdom are our shared center, then we find stability in relationships. But when those pillars are ignored or slowly abandoned, the relationship suffers. I’ve seen this repeatedly over years of ministry. And for those who choose to keep the standard, it can be incredibly painful.

Why? Because when someone walks away from a spiritually bonded relationship, they aren’t just walking away from a person. They’re walking away from a covenant and a grace that was available. And that covenant wasn’t based on preference—it was a spiritual agreement to walk together for the sake of Christ and His Kingdom. The grace was given to perform the assignment together. This is why it cuts so deep. It’s not just about compatibility; it’s about co-laboring with God and each other. That’s why when someone walks away, it can feel like a silent message saying, “You, and what you’re doing, have no value.”

And yet, this isn’t new. I’ve had to navigate this type of grief time and again. You never fully get used to it. The key is guarding your heart so it doesn’t become hard. I’ve had to remind myself that when someone breaks fellowship, it’s often out of unresolved hurt, pride, or spiritual confusion. But I’ve also seen the mercy of God restore those same people—sometimes years later when they hear God, repent, and return.

A War of Spirit vs. Flesh

The greatest strain in any relationship happens when the spirit and the flesh collide—whether it’s within one person or between two people. That internal war becomes external. What was once cherished turns contentious. The enemy loves to use these moments to isolate us and discourage us, and if we’re not careful, we begin to mistrust future relationships and harden our expectations.

But with the right spiritual lens, we can see the truth: it’s a battle of dominion. Will the Spirit of God define how we relate to others? Or will we keep building around personal preference, emotional needs, and shared hobbies?

Common interests might make friendships feel fun, but they’ll never sustain a spiritual bond. Without spiritual unity—without Christ at the center—disappointment is inevitable. And we set ourselves up for it when we blur those lines.

The Bible is clear: we’re to steward our relationships intentionally. Relationships with unbelievers exist, yes, but mostly for the sake of bringing the gospel of the kingdom to them. Within the Body, however, we are meant to have deeper, more meaningful connections—relationships that carry counsel, support, accountability, and shared purpose.

But not every Christian relationship is healthy. I always ask: Is this someone I’d want my children to follow? Is their life a model I’d want reproduced? Because who we allow close will always shape us. You don’t seek marriage advice from someone with a broken marriage. You don’t ask spiritual counsel from someone who refuses to walk in fellowship with the Body. Relationships may be ordained by God—but their maintenance is our responsibility.

Boundaries, Not Breaks

2 Thessalonians 3:6-7 gives us a bold directive: “Withdraw from every brother who walks disorderly.” That’s a hard word for our modern ears, but it’s straight from the Word. The Greek idea of “withdraw” is not to fully sever ties but to reorder the relationship. It’s about setting boundaries.

That word “disorderly” speaks volumes. It’s not about someone struggling—it’s about someone who refuses to submit to the structure and order of God. They walk independently, unaccountable, out of step with the Body, and in opposition to sound doctrine. That’s the person Scripture warns us to distance from—not to punish, but to give space for God to bring repentance.

Immature Christians think boundaries are rejection. But boundaries actually protect what’s valuable. They determine how much of our heart, our time, our spiritual energy we invest. Relationships must be measured by spiritual maturity, not just sentiment.

Paul takes it further in 1 Corinthians 5, saying we shouldn’t even eat with a believer who lives like the world. Not the sinner outside the Church—but the brother inside it who refuses to be transformed. This is about spiritual stewardship. If we keep close ties with unrepentant believers, we enable their dysfunction and invite confusion. Sometimes, the most loving thing we can do is let go. Yes, it’s hard. I’ve walked it. I’ve had to limit connections with uncorrectable believers, disengage from those choosing worldliness.

The Kingdom of God is relational at its core. God places us in the Body not just for function, but for fellowship. True koinonia isn’t about coffee and casual talk—it’s about sharing spiritual life, helping one another become who God intended.

Take an honest inventory: Who are you walking with? Who’s helping you grow in Christ? Who are you helping in return? Are your leaders truly discipling you, or are you stuck in a cycle of peer mentoring with no real transformation?

God-ordained relationships will challenge you, stretch you, and grow you. Cultivate those. Guard those. And be willing to release what no longer carries His breath.

Church and Culture: The Great Divide

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Over the years in ministry, through seasons of change and decades of serving in the calling, I’ve watched the landscape of the Church shift—again and again. New strategies rise, new expressions emerge, and cultural waves crash at the gates of the Body of Christ. There is always this desire to be “relevant,” to meet the world where it is. And yet, deep within the soul of the Church is a cry to recover the DNA of the early apostolic company. What we have is not just a tension—it’s a tug-of-war.

Relevance has become a buzzword. But relevance, when not anchored in truth, requires compromise. And compromise—though subtle—is deadly. To be relevant to culture often means we must absorb part of it. To speak to modern issues, we immerse ourselves in them. To communicate faith on the level of the hearer, we water it down. I’ve watched it happen slowly, incrementally. But over time, relevance begins to redefine our values.

But here’s the truth: the Church was never called to mirror culture. It was called to confront it. The early Church did not try to “relate” to Roman rule, or blend with religious traditions, cultic practices, or distorted values of life. They were unapologetically counter-cultural. They understood the call to be in the world, but not of it—and they lived it.

What’s disturbing is how far we’ve drifted. We’ve tried to attract the world by looking like it, thinking we can rescue people from worldliness while using worldly methods. We justify our compromises as “relatable.” Social drinking, carnal environments, and a diluted holiness have all found their way into our sanctuaries. But relevance without holiness produces confusion. We’ve normalized immaturity and called it maturity because someone knows both sides. Yet many of these are still babes—stuck at salvation, never maturing into discipleship, let alone Christ-likeness.

Who let these false ideas in?

Even well-intentioned efforts, if not grounded in truth, open the door to private interpretation. Jesus never spoke in vague language. He confronted error, exposed darkness, and raised a standard that was not only high but clearly understood. His invitation wasn’t to blend in—it was to follow Him. That meant dying to self, abandoning personal wisdom, living by faith, and ministering to souls, while not making friends with the world.

Today, everything is labeled “Christian” or “church,” even when the foundational truths are absent. Maybe the issue isn’t culture invading the church—but the Church lowering her standards.

I recently found myself reflecting on the early Church’s demands: the qualifications for elders, the weight of fivefold ministry, and the expectation that saints would do the work of ministry. There was an assumption that the life of Christ within the people would be so vibrant, it would require spiritual oversight by mature elders—those who carried God’s heart.

And they weren’t living in a vacuum. Their world was far more corrupt than ours: idols at every turn, public temples to demons, open witchcraft, Baal worship, the cruelty of Rome, the celebration of depravity. And yet in the midst of it all—they stood. Separated for the work. The Church didn’t just survive—it multiplied.

They had a clear vision: manifest the Kingdom of God.
They had a clear mission: preach the gospel of the Kingdom to the ends of the earth.
They had apostolic oversight: men who set doctrine and brought what was lacking into fullness.
They had eldership in cities who preserved what the apostles had established.

And still, through every age, with all the cultural pressures, false teachings, ego-driven ministries, and shifting models—the Church, the ekklesia, stands. Bruised, stretched, and reshaped at times—but never destroyed. She is still being refined. And yes, she will become the glorious Bride. She will be the one who delivers the Kingdom to the Father. She will rise in apostolic and prophetic order. She will become the ruling, reigning ones.

This is my hope.
This is my assignment.
This is my call.

To reveal the King and His Kingdom. To unveil the mystery: Christ in you, the hope of glory.

The Wineskins of Decisions: Building for God, Not Just for Us

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I wrote this blog a few weeks ago and felt I was not to not post it until later. Now I see some posting on wineskin and feel I should post.

For decades now, there’s been a constant buzz in kingdom circles about the “wineskin” and what God desires to build in this season. There’s been talk of new dynamics, fresh structures, and groundbreaking concepts that are supposed to carry the “new wine” God is pouring out. Countless conversations, teachings, and strategies have centered on this theme for over 30 years.

But here’s what I’ve noticed: most of these discussions focus more on the wineskin itself than on the new wine meant to be inside it.

When Jesus spoke of wineskins, His audience understood the natural process. New wine required a new wineskin. The grape juice would ferment, releasing gases and creating pressure. An old, dry wineskin couldn’t stretch with this process—it would burst. The wineskin wasn’t just for fermentation; it was also for transportation. It was a portable container designed for movement and flexibility.

Through the years, I’ve heard many interpretations:

  • The wineskin is the kingdom, the wine is the ecclesia.
  • The wineskin is sonship, the wine is identity.
  • The wineskin is Jesus, the wine is the Holy Spirit.
  • The wineskin is the apostolic, the wine is the ecclesia.

At different times, I’ve embraced each of these views. Lately, I’ve been sensing the wineskin is sonship and the wine is holy community. Maybe the wineskin looks different depending on the season we’re in. There’s no shortage of speculation about Luke 5 and Jesus’ teaching on wineskins and how we would apply this for today.

One widely accepted interpretation is that new revelations won’t fit into old structures, and therefore, we need new structures. While that’s true, we often overlook the primary message Jesus was sharing: the old wineskin is the Old Covenant, and the new is the New Covenant. That’s the essential framework He was establishing.

Where we tend to get tripped up is in attempting to build a new wineskin inside an old environment—or alongside it—without recognizing that “new” means exactly that. New. Nothing of the old can really be repurposed. The conversations about new wineskins that have echoed for over 40 years haven’t materialized into visible change, perhaps because we’re still clinging to fragments of the old.

The reality staring at us is who is willing to let go of what has been in order to grab what is indeed new. Who is willing to lay everything as an offering in being able to go into what we don’t understand. It really is the ultimate faith journey.

The word “new” (in Greek) means unused, unworn, recently made, fresh, unprecedented. It describes something of a completely new nature—not just new in time, but new in kind. It hints at something miraculous and unexpected that salvation ushers in: a new heaven, a new earth, a new Jerusalem, a new name, a new song, a new creation, and yes, new wine. All of these point to God’s desires and plans, not man’s.

Here’s what I also see: the wineskins people are trying to build today are heavily influenced by the times they live in and the revelation they currently carry. This has led to many people building many wineskins for many reasons, instead of us collectively building a singular wineskin focused on the kingdom Jesus spoke of. Often, the emphasis is on creating a new structure to make ministry easier and more effective—rather than building from a kingdom covenant framework that aligns with the heart of God.

Add to that the tension of personal preference. It’s easier to default to the old wineskin because it feels familiar. It reflects past preferences, past experiences—even good ones—that we’re reluctant to let go of. But what was a productive truth in the past might not be the truth needed now.

I believe much of our pursuit has been about creating a wineskin that works for us, instead of asking what would a wineskin built solely for God look like? Could we dare to build something not centered on our convenience or efficiency, but entirely for His pleasure? What if the wineskin we’re called to build is designed to connect deeply with the next age—the eternal age?
What if it was a portal, a spiritual opening, transferring heaven to earth? A place where the frequencies of heaven resonate across all dimensions? A way of redefining and realigning. Could the wineskin be a kind of superposition—a quantum space operating simultaneously in two dimensions, waiting to be measured by the manifestation of His glory? At its simplest, the wineskin is a container—but for what? For God’s new. And if we built it for Him alone, would it even entertain men? Or would it instead draw God Himself?

In 2015, God told me to build a throne for Him in our state. I didn’t know what that meant at the time. Now, the pathway is becoming clearer. The “new” rarely seems logical or realistic. It never fits the status quo. But in contemplating what a wineskin built for God might look like, I wrote down these thoughts:

  1. It would be a place that allows the expression of the next age to form.
    An understanding of the eternal would permeate everything.
  2. It would be a place where the sounds and frequencies of heaven are heard and felt.
    Not just earthly worship, but a heavenly discourse and sound.
  3. It would be a place of spiritual flow and expression.
    Flowing in sync with God, unrestricted by time or human agendas.
  4. It would be built for God’s presence more than for man’s entertainment.
    A place not of visitation but sustained dwelling.
  5. It would be a place filled with revelation of the mysteries of God.
    A continual unveiling of God, leaving man in awe.

These would naturally result in the things we currently discuss about wineskins, but those would be the byproducts or fruit of, not the focus. The how-to’s of ministry would emerge from the wineskin itself as fruit—an effect of being inside the wineskin and becoming the wine.

What strikes me is how little conversation actually focuses on building a wineskin for God.
After all, it’s His wine, His container. We can’t build anything apart from Him. This requires us to move from ownership to stewardship—a shift that might explain why many cling to the old wineskin. The new demands we give up control.

All the ministry functions we struggle to implement would naturally flow from His presence. Needs would be met simply by standing before Him. Ministry would shift to its rightful order: Melchizedek priests ministering first to the Lord, and then into the earth’s culture.

I challenge you to reconsider your wineskin. What if you built it as a place where God would love to dwell? When He is with us, many of our issues would resolve in His presence. Let’s not confuse the wineskin with the wine. If we build for Him, the wine will come.

When Words of Encouragement Aren’t Enough: A Message to Ministry Leaders

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Every ministry leader looks for signs that the work is bearing fruit—affirmations that they’re in step with God, glimpses of spiritual maturity in those they lead, and those powerful moments when someone has a life-changing encounter with the Lord. These moments encourage us deeply. But what happens when those affirmations are absent—or worse, when they come too late?

We all need encouragement. It’s not a weakness; it’s part of how God wired us. Encouragement reminds us we’re making a difference, that something we’ve invested in is producing fruit. But there’s a danger too: when leaders begin to feed on affirmation like a drug, it breeds unhealthy motives and even codependency. I’ve seen this firsthand. A leader begins needing affirmation to feel valuable, and the people begin needing the leader to validate them—rather than seeking that identity in God. Left unchecked, this dynamic poisons a church.

In ministry, there are seasons of encouragement and seasons of silence. Most experienced leaders understand this ebb and flow. In the quiet seasons, we often draw on past affirmations or lean hard into the Lord’s presence. But sometimes, the silence stretches longer than expected. No thank-you, no fruit you can see, no sign you’re making a difference. And then—maybe finally—words of encouragement come, but they fall flat. They’re late. Out of sync. Like water offered after the thirst has already broken you down.

If you’ve been in ministry for a while, you know this feeling. You start to ask big questions: Why did I say yes to this in the first place? What did I hope would happen that never did? Have I drifted from the original vision? It’s a time of soul-level evaluation—and often a time of deep weariness. You are on a path alone. No one can help you find the way. The main thing you need is time. You can clear the schedule and speed the process or continue as is and drag things out.

What you are needing is only one thing and that is hearing directly from God—not about the ministry, but about you. This is more than just reassessing strategy. It’s about resetting your own heart. Are you still stewarding your life well? Are you carrying assignments God never asked you to pick up? Are secondary things crowding out the primary call?

One of my favorite scriptures is found in 1 Samuel 30:6. David is facing devastation—his people are speaking of stoning him, families have been taken, everything seems lost. But what does he do? It says, “David encouraged himself in the Lord.” He took the posture of a priest, put on the ephod, and sought God directly. That’s what we must do. When the encouragement of others isn’t enough, we must hear His voice afresh.

These seasons aren’t pleasant, but they’re productive. Something is being built. A deeper faith. A clearer focus. A renewed strength. Often, God uses this time to replay your story—to show you how He’s been faithful, to remind you of the strength you once carried, and to reignite the fire of your original calling.

Is it easy? Not at all. Are there distractions? Plenty. But this is a sacred moment. God is inviting you back to the foundation—not to fix everything, but to remember why you started. To rediscover that singular focus of the primary call of your life. To realign with your first love of serving, and to a simpler approach.

So, leader, if you’re in a season where encouragement feels absent or ineffective, take heart. You’re not alone. And more importantly, you’re not finished. Let this be a time of holy re-centering. Let God speak to you. That’s where the real strength comes from.